Red Jack's Daughter by Edith Layton

the clear light of day, a very small parcel to have caused such a large hubbub. Not diminutive, he amended, for she was of average height, but there was that about her which suggested vulnerability. Her face, he noted with surprise, was not at all bad. She was, of course, nothing in the style of the females that were the highest style of the day. Those fortunate ladies were imposing creatures, bold, deep-bosomed females with long straight noses, full lips, and great slumberous eyes. This nose was an insignific a nt member, nothing to take seriously at all. The mouth was not voluptuous, only dusky-rose and well-shaped, and the complexion at least milky-white. It was the eyes, beneath the winged uptilted brows, that were the finest feature. For they were large, well-spaced, and of a rich brown that held a hint of fox color in their depths. On the whole, it was a light-boned delicate countenance.
    Of the form and hair, Lord Leith was forced to suspend judgment. For the one was concealed very effectively beneath a shapeless lavender garment and the other was pulled back and hidden under some large hideous lace concoction. He thought he detected an echoing fox pelt gleam beneath the cap, but before he could refine longer upon her hair, or rather the curious absence of it, the face he had been surveying took on a mutinous expression and the mouth opened to speak.
    “Lord Leith,” she said in a foggy but sure voice, “Lady Grantham told me you wished conversation with me, but before you say a word, I beg you accept my apologies. I did not mean to seem discourteous last night and can only plead the lateness of the hour and my own lack of tact. It was not my intention to snub you, please believe that to be the truth.”
    It was a valorous little speech, the gentleman thought, just what one would expect of any well-brought-up young man. Since its execution dovetailed so neatly with what he had been thinking, Lord Leith smiled again and put up his hand to forestall any further comment.
    “Miss Eastwood, please say no more,” he said with such sincerity that any close acquaintance of his would have looked at him sharply, “for it is I who should be apologizing to you. I never have understood,” he said smoothly, “why it is that Society places the burden of being eternally obliging upon females alone. For if a fellow doesn’t wish to dance, he has merely to refrain from asking anyone to stand up with him and he is safe. Whereas a lady has to think of a dozen plausible excuses if she does not care to. Then, if a gentleman is refused, he thinks himself ill-used, unless the poor lady has a splint upon her leg, yet if she is not asked to dance, it is felt that in some curious way she has failed. So you see, I do understand and you must allow me to beg your pardon for being churlish enough to leave immediately upon your refusal.”
    Miss Eastwood looked up at him with a look of deep, albeit start led, gratification.
    He went on lightly, “In my case, it was the heat and a fit of ill-temper which had nothing to do at all with your response. Accept my apologies, then, for I fear I gave you and my aunt the wrong impression.”
    Miss Eastwood hesitated, for it had not been her aim to a ccept his apology; rather, she had come to make amends to him. But since he stood there patiently awaiting her reply, she smiled up at him and then put out her hand. “Done,” she sa id simply. After a moment’s surprised pause, the gentleman took her hand in his large clasp and they shook hands solemnly.
    Lord Leith averted his head for a moment, as though looking for a place to sit, and when he turned back to her, there was not a vestige of a smile remaining on his lips. He asked her straightly enough if she cared to sit and chat awhile, and Miss Eastwood graciously settled herself in a chair opposite him.
    They spoke for a while about London and then idly pursued the list of places the gentleman considered vital for a visitor to London to inspect. It